The following is a work of gay fiction. If the
subject
matter is offensive or you are to young to read it, please exit now.
See
Chapter One for Copyright Information. John Tucker
JETjt@aol.com.

EMPIRE

Chapter Twenty

Monday, high above the Colorado Mountains

Butch
checked his instruments again when the jet-powered
helicopter was 30 minutes into its run from Grand Junction toward
Denver. He
was 10 miles south of the trajectory they had flown at this same time
the
previous day. The rotary winged aircraft first climbed and then dove,
keeping a
near-constant height above the ground where the crew could best see any
traces
of a crashed aircraft. Without the homing signal that all commercial
and most
corporate aircraft were now equipped with, the chances of spotting a
downed
aircraft were vastly diminished. They had to search the old fashioned
way, by
flying over a pre-established grid, back and forth until something was
spotted.
Ahead lay the area near where the aircraft had disappeared.

“Pilot to crew,” Butch announced over the microphone to the
headphones worn by the co-pilot and two paramedics, “We’ll be flying
over the
area where the plane disappeared soon, keep an extra sharp lookout.”

Each
of the crew radioed back their acknowledgement as the
chopper continued its flight.

60 miles ahead
in a deep crevasse

Tom Stanley
made his way back to the small galley of the
crashed plane. The air temperature was still below freezing in the
aircraft’s
cabin, so he kept a blanket wrapped around him. Having made the trip
several
times now, he was able to judge the distance from his seat much better,
placing
his hand at countertop height without the sightless fumbling of his
early
trips. Opening the door to the small refrigerator, he took out the last
of the
food he’d found and two bottles of water, then returned to his seat.
Handing a
sandwich and a bottle of water to the injured officer, he took his
seat,
wrapped himself up as best he could with his arms still free and took
the
plastic wrapping off of the sandwich he’d kept for himself.

“That’s all the food,” he announced. “There are four more
bottles of water, then we’re out of that too.”

“After we eat, I’d better look around,” Sunderson said.
“Maybe we could put out a marker or flare or something. From the looks
of
things, we’d be pretty hard to spot from the air.”

“Can
you walk?” Tom asked.

“Well, I made it to the toilet a while ago. It
hurts like hell, but I think I can, at
least for a short distance. You could go along for support. I can see,
but if I
fall I’m not sure I can get back up.”

“I’ll do whatever I can,” Tom assured the officer.
“If we
can’t be spotted from the air, we’re ‘goners’ unless we do something. I
doubt
that we can hike out, but at least we could start a fire or lay out
something
that would let us be seen.”

Washington
D.C.

The
Homeland Security car approached the building where Ron
and Tyler were scheduled to meet with Adam Jenkins, the Deputy Director
of the
FBI. The men could see a new building
going up on the grounds formerly the exclusive site for the CIA.

The building that the car was headed for was the
temporary
headquarters of Homeland Security until their move to the new building.
It was
the former CIA Headquarters but now held not only the top staff of the
CIA, but
the office of the Deputy Director of the FBI who was assigned as
liaison
between the FBI headquarted in D.C. and the Executive Offices of
Homeland
security to insure the coordinated efforts of agencies in a unified
front in
the fight against terrorism.

Having cleared the first two security stops, the car pulled
up to the front entrance of the building under a portico protecting
visitors
from the often-inclement weather.

“There will be another security check inside the doors,” the
driver announced. “It should be only a minor inconvenience, as the
Deputy
Director has sent down a staff member to escort you to the office where
you
will have your meeting.”

The
car pulled to the curb and stopped. Ron opened the door
on his side of the car and stepped out onto the walkway followed
quickly by
Tyler who closed the car door after him. The car pulled away toward the
parking
garage in the distance.

“Guess
it’s too late to change our minds,” Tyler quipped.

“I
hope they’re ready for us,” Ron commented. “I hate
bureaucracies as you well know. I especially hate the bureaucrats that
run
them, mostly because they often put on airs that they are better than
anyone
else.”

“I
guess, we’ll just have to confirm what they have in
mind,” Ron countered as they reached the doors that opened for their
admittance. Passing by two uniformed guards armed with assault rifles,
they
stepped inside.

“Gentlemen,” they heard as a young man in a suit approached,
“my name is Chuck Brinkman. I presume that you are the Turners?”

“Yes,
I’m Tyler. This my brother Ron.”

The
men exchanged handshakes.

“We’ll go through one last security check, then we’ll be on
our way to meet with Mr. Jenkins. Please step this way,” Brinkman said,
indicating a manned security station where another two armed guards sat
behind
the personnel operating the electronic equipment.

Following
their guide they quickly passed through the
electronic detectors and submitted to a quick ‘pat-down’ for weapons.
Plastic
passes with their photos were handed to them as they completed the
search.

“I
thought there would be even more security to get in
here,” Tyler commented almost tongue-in-cheek as they followed
Brinkman.

“This
is the ‘public’ part of the complex,” Brinkman
offered. Once inside this part, you can’t get into any offices without
security
cards. In addition there is much more security to get into the ‘secret’
areas.
Even if you work there, you cannot enter or leave without being
searched. Prior
to 9/11 security was good but now it’s several notches higher.”

The
young guide stopped at an elevator, inserted a card from
his pocket, and the doors slid open for their entry.

“I
wish I could describe the features of the security here,”
the young man continued as the elevator began it’s climb, “but even I
don’t
know all of it, and what I do know I am not allowed to reveal. I can
tell you
though, that these buildings are well guarded, both with human
security, and
with electronic measures and counter measures. It is more secure than
the White
House because there is no need for the public exposure and access that
the
President’s residence requires. Many people think that this complex is
full of
intrigue and excitement. I can only tell you that such happenings are
rare. For
the most part, most of what happens here is just laboriously digging
out facts
and analyzing them. We have the best of electronic computers and other
equipment, but nothing can take the place of good old human sweat, toil
and
deduction.”

The
elevator stopped, the doors slid open and the men exited
the conveyance. Another guard was visible in each direction a short
distance
from the elevators.

“This
way please,” the smiling guide said, indicating the
direction they needed to go.

Walking slightly ahead of the two visitors, the young man
continued down the hallway before pausing before a pair of carved entry
doors.
Unlocking the door with his electronic pass, he pulled the right hand
door
toward him and indicated that Tyler and Ron should precede him. The men
entered
a beautifully furnished waiting room, where a receptionist sat facing
the door.
Looking up, she smiled at the visitors, while Brinkman led them to her
desk.

“Messrs. Tyler and Ron Turner to see Mr. Jenkins,” they were
announced by their escort.

“Welcome gentlemen,” she countered. “The Deputy Director is
expecting you. Please have a seat, and I’ll tell him that you’ve
arrived.”

“Thank you,” Ron said as the three men moved to the
indicated seating area.

They
had just settled down on the modern furniture when the
receptionist announced that Jenkins was ready to see them. Rising from
their
seats, they followed Brinkman down a short hallway to another pair of
impressive doors. After knocking, Brinkman opened the door and motioned
the
pair of visitors to step
inside, then
followed them.

The
Deputy Director remained seated as the trio approached,
only rising from his seat when the men reached his desk.

“Mr.
Jenkins,” Brinkman said, “I’d like you to
meet Mr. Tyler Turner and Mr.
Ron Turner. Gentlemen this is Mr. Adam
Jenkins, the Deputy Director of the Homeland Security Department.”

The
men exchanged handshakes and the customary pleasantries,
before Jenkins motioned to the three chairs across his desk and asked
the
visitors to sit, before seating himself again.

“Could I offer you some coffee?” He asked.

“No,
thanks,” Tyler answered. “We had breakfast not long
ago.”

“Very
well,” Jenkins said looking at a folder opened in front
of him before beginning to speak. “First, I’d like to welcome you to
the
Department of Homeland Security. Second, I’d like to apologize for my
attitude
in our telephone conversation a few weeks ago.”

“You’re forgiven,” Tyler said with a smile that caused the
Deputy some visible irritation at needing forgiveness.

“You said in that conversation that we, namely
Aztec-Turner
Security, might be of some assistance in the fight against terrorism,”
Tyler
began. “Could you tell us what you have in mind?”

“Yes,
of course,” Jenkins replied. “I will start by saying
that it’s come to our attention that your company has been growing at a
phenomenal rate, capitalizing on the security concerns of our nation.
You are
to be commended.”

“Not
necessary,” Tyler explained. “He decided to come to
work for us.”

Jenkins was dumbfounded. “How?…What?”….

“It
doesn’t matter,” declared Tyler.

“I
suppose that you checked us out personally too?” Ron
asked.

“Well, of course,” Jenkins went on covering his discomfort
with a bureaucratic smile. “It was important to know what kind of men
we were
in bed with.”

“I
take it that you mean that figuratively,” Ron said with
only a hint of sarcasm.

Jenkins blushed.

“I’m
sure that you are aware that we’re gay,” Tyler
challenged.

“Well
…yes,” Jenkins revealed with reluctance. “In your
case it was decided that it could be overlooked.”

“You
don’t have to overlook it on our account,” Ron stated.
“We’re big boys and we can take care of ourselves.”

“Well, you must admit that having gays in sensitive
positions is not desirable.”

“It’s
only that heterosexual bigots have made it so,” Ron
challenged. “If gays were accepted in society freely, there would be no
reason
to fear the potential of blackmail.”

“You
have a point, but society is what society is. We have
to live with it.”

“To a
degree that’s true,” Ron conceded, “but it reminds me
of the logic that several southern Governor’s took regarding
segregation.”

“Are
you accusing the U.S. Government of bigotry?” the
deputy asked.

“If
the shoe fits wear it,” Ron said throwing down the
gauntlet. “The President’s promotion of discrimination against Gays
certainly
seems to fit the mold.”

“Are
you referring to the President’s stand on the sanctity
of marriage?”

“In a
nutshell, yes,” Ron said. “I’d like to know how
discriminating against gay couples sanctifies marriage? I don’t know of
one gay
couple that ever caused a divorce between any heterosexual couple.
Further I
don’t know of any gay couple that caused any straight couple’s marriage
to
become less holy. It seems that couples made up of men and women need
no help
with that! The proposed constitutional amendment is a sham. It’s a
thinly
disguised attempt to discriminate against gays. And to think that it’s
coming
from the highest office in the land is beneath contempt.”

“I
presume this means that you won’t help us,” Jenkins
concluded abruptly.

“Not
at all,” Ron replied. “One thing has nothing to do with
the other. I happen to think the President is way off base in not
promoting
equality amongst all his constituents and we plan on spending
an immense
amount of money to oppose the amendment, but that has nothing to do
with
international terrorism.”

“You’ll help us then?” The Deputy asked, now really
confused.

“We’ll listen,” interjected Tyler. “So far you haven’t told
us anything, not that it matters much. We already have a pretty good
idea of
what you have in mind.”

“How…
uh… “

“Cut
the crap!” Tyler barked. “We’re in the security
business. We have ways of finding out what we want to find out. All it
takes is
money and time.”

“What
do you know?” Jenkins asked.

“You
told us the beginning of it yourself,” said Tyler. “You
want us to couple our resources with that of the Federal Government to
uncover
terrorist attempts and to locate cells, and hopefully leadership of the
Islamic
terrorists. Beyond that, you wish to use our personnel and resources in
covert
activities against suspected terrorists. We’re not sure what you offer
in
return, but we’re willing to listen. There are some things we will not
do,
though.”

“Such
as?”

“If
we feel that you or we are treading on human or personal
rights, we’ll hold back and perhaps withdraw.”

“We
now have the law on our side,” boasted Jenkins.

“Perhaps so,” Tyler countered, “but you have to remember
that even if it’s a law, it may still be a bad law. Abuse of that law
could result
in it being declared unconstitutional if personal rights are abused.
Remember
the rounding up of citizens of Japanese descent during World War II?
Now it’s considered a violation of human
civil rights, but at the time it was considered just a measure of
expediency.
What happened to citizens of German descent? Nothing happened because
they were
white and racially unrecognizable.
Regardless, if we feel that personal rights are being violated,
we won’t
participate.”

“It
sounds like you are not very anxious to help.”

“The
Government doesn’t have a very good batting average
when it comes to personal rights versus what the Government wants to
do,” Ron
declared. “Sometimes it’s just the Government acting in sheer
stupidity, and
other times it’s on purpose.”

“What
then are you willing to do for us?” Jenkins asked.

“First, besides the training you offer, we’re willing to
hire specialists who have knowledge of how the terrorists think, act
and work,”
Tyler began. “Next, we’re willing to share our knowledge with you as we
uncover
suspected terrorists or terrorist activity. Finally, we’re willing to
participate, if legally authorized to do so, in operations to break up
terrorist rings, and to thwart attempts of terror.”

“That’s all we ask,” the Deputy responded. “We’ll pay you
well for your efforts.”

“We’ll accept compensation for our costs only,” Ron
declared. “We want to make no profit off of helping the country. We
aren’t
defense contractors.”

“That’s most generous. I’m sure the President will be pleased.”

“If
you’d care to set up an initial planning session, we’ll
be glad to send representatives to attend. They will be fully
authorized to act
on our behalf,” Tyler stated. “It can be as early as you like.”

“Would two weeks be enough time?”

“Yes,
that would be fine,” Tyler assured the Deputy. “If
you’d let my office know the schedule, I’ll review it. I can assure you
that
within the limitations we’ve already set, my people will be very
cooperative.
At the moment, I’m planning on sending Gary Franklin who heads up our
Atlanta
office. He’s an ex-FBI agent.”

“That
would be very satisfactory,” agreed Jenkins.

“Fine. Is there anything else?” Tyler asked.

“No,” the Deputy Director declared. “Our people
can work out
the details when your representatives arrive.”

“Good,” Ron said as he stood and offered his hand. “It was
nice meeting you sir. Have a good day.”

“It
was also nice meeting you,” Jenkins responded as he
shook both Ron’s and Tyler’s hands.

Ron
and Tyler followed the escort through the door, but
before it closed, Ron heard Jenkins mutter, “Damned meddling
politicians. They have
to involve civilians!”

Ron
smiled.

***

Colorado,
in the crashed plane

“It’s
moving,” Tom Stanley said as the door of the aircraft
opened slightly.

"I
can see through the crack in the door,” the sergeant who
was standing behind him said with encouragement. “I don’t know if the
door will
clear the cliff beside us, but it looks like it will open up enough to
slip out
onto the snow which is just below the door sill.”

“Get
the two raincoats in the closet behind you,” Tom
requested and he opened the door further. “Maybe if the plane is hidden
we
could put them out on the snow where they’d be visible.”

Sunderson turned, opened the small closet by the galley and
extracted the two coats.

“They
are bright yellow,” he informed his former captive.
“That should help.”

As
the door swung upward 2/3 of its fully opened position,
it struck the stone cliff, halting its travel.

“That’s as far as it will go,” Tom announced.

“Step
aside and let me look behind the plane. Maybe I can
see what we’re up against.”

“Okay
Sergeant,” Tom agreed, stepping away from the door
opening.

The
officer moved with an expression of pain to the door,
then stuck his head out and looked toward the tail, or what was left of
it.

“What
do you see?” Tom asked.

“It
looks like the plane is totally within a crevice. Unless
someone looked directly into the opening we can’t be seen.”

“How
far into the crevice are we, and can we get out?”
inquired the released captive.

“We’re only in about ten feet beyond the tail,”
Sunderson
reported. “I think we can get out too as the snow appears to be
shallower in
the crevice than out in the open.”

“Do
you think you can go with me?”

“I
think so,” the officer responded. “My legs and arm hurt,
but I think I can stand if the snow doesn’t get too deep.”

“If
you can make it to the back of the plane, you can tell
me where to go with the raincoats.”

“I’m
sure I can make it to the opening into the cliff. That
way I can see where we are.”

“Let’s go then,” Tom said. “If you’ll direct me, I’ll go
first, then I’ll help you out of the plane.”

“Good,” Sunderson agreed. “Let’s go.”

***

Meantime
in the RET rescue helicopter.

The
aircraft topped the ridge of a range of mountains and
swooped down into the narrow valley
between. Looking off to the left, the pilot, Butch, and one of the EMTs
looked
up the narrow valley.

Suddenly as the plane began its climb up the opposite slope
toward the next range, the co-pilot, Jake Arrow shouted, “I’ve got a
homing
signal!” Before Butch could react, Jake again yelled, “I’ve lost it.”

Butch
pulled back on the stick immediately slowing the
aircraft’s forward motion, and by kicking
the rudder pedals, he had the chopper make a circling turn and reversed
its
direction. Settling back down the slope at its assigned altitude above
ground,
it was only a few moments before the co-pilot announced hearing the
signal
again. Butch once more pulled back on the stick.

“What
direction is it coming from?” he asked quickly.

After
a short moment’s pause Jake answered, “from the North.”

Butch
banked the helicopter, pointing the nose up the
valley.

“I’ve
lost it again,” Jake announced.

“I’ll
turn further east,” Butch announced his intended
movement. “The signal must be very narrow and when we turned, we got
out of its
path.”

Thirty seconds later, Jake yelled, “We have it again.”

Butch
made a slow turn back in a Northerly direction.

“Let
me know if you lose it,” the pilot instructed.

Continuing at a ground speed of 30 knots, the aircraft moved
up the narrow valley and in 10 minutes the end of the valley was
approaching.

“I’m
going to gain altitude,” Butch informed his crew as he
pulled upward on the collective. “There’s a ledge ahead and I want to
give the
edge of it plenty of clearance.”

The
aircraft began to rise and soon passed over the edge of
the escarpment.

“Look
ahead,” Jake shouted,
“There is a deep trough in the snow.

Once
over the anomaly Butch again pulled back on the stick
cutting their forward velocity in half.

Tom and
Sergeant Sunderson stood behind the plane near the
entry of the narrow chasm where the fuselage of their transport was
lodged.

“Holy
Shit!” Sunderson exclaimed. “I don’t know how the
pilots did it, but they threaded the needle when they aimed the plane
into the
crevasse. It must have taken a ton of
skill and some damned good luck to keep us from being smashed into
solid rock.
We owe those guys our lives.”

“A
lot of good it will do if we don’t get rescued,” remarked
Tom.

“For
sure,” agreed Sunderson. “You might make it out alone
if you could see, and I can see but wouldn’t make it a mile with these
broken
legs. I think we’d better put out the raincoats. There is a piece of
wing about
20 feet ahead of us. If you go straight out you’ll run into it. Place
the
raincoats on the wing. That will keep them above ground where they
might be
less likely to be covered with blowing snow. Afterward, we’d better
return to
the plane.”

“Okay,” Tom said, then he began to count his paces away from
the lawman, as he pulled and lifted his feet through the snow with each
slow
step. Suddenly he paused.

“Do
you hear anything?” He yelled at his companion.

“Damn
right!” the officer screamed back. “It’s a helicopter
coming right at us in the distance!
Wave the raincoats!” he ordered, waving his own arms up and
down.

In
the helicopter, Butch was the first to see the tiny
movement up ahead.

“There they are,” he shouted in joy. “Radio the control center
that we’ve found them.”

The
co-pilot switched the radio to the Control Center’s
assigned frequency. Quickly informing the Center of their success, he
relayed
their position and informed the Center that only two survivors were
visible.
The Controller at the Center responded that they would direct a second
helicopter to the site so that the survivors could be transported to
the
hospital by the RET chopper, while the second would look for any other
survivors.

By the
time the co-pilot signed off, Butch was carefully
lowering the helicopter into the snow 30 feet away from the now visible
broken-off wing and 50 feet away from the entrance of the fissure where
the
broken tail of the jet could be seen. As the craft settled to gain
solid
footing, the EMT’s slid the rear door open so the paramedics would be
ready to
exit as soon as the aircraft stopped moving.

Butch
felt the wheels of the craft hit solid earth and began
to ease off on the collective slowly in case the hidden ground gave way
under
the weight of the machine, causing it to tip. As soon as he was sure
that the
earth would not deal them any surprises, Butch feathered the rotors and
cut the
engines’ throttles, then finally turned off the ignitions that lit the
aircraft’s twin turbojet engines.

The
two EMT’s were moving as fast as the snow would permit
toward the injured men while Butch and Jake tended to shutting down the
helicopter. Since both survivors were standing the medics had left the
stretchers that were part of their rescue package in the plane.

Reaching Tom first, Del the EMT leader asked, “Are you
injured?”

Tom
responded with a shout to be heard above the
helicopter’s winding down engines, “I’ve had a blow to the head and
can’t see.
Otherwise I think I’m okay.”

“Stay
here, we’ll be back in a minute to take you to the
helicopter,” Del ordered before following his partner to Sgt.
Sunderson.

“We’ll need a stretcher here,” Buck the other paramedic
announced as Del arrived at the second injured man. “He thinks he has
two
broken legs and a broken arm.”

Del
signaled to Butch and Jake who were just descending from
the helicopter to bring a stretcher for the policeman. Minutes later
the
stretcher was on the ground by the injured man and he was being lowered
onto
it. Ten minutes afterward, both the survivors were strapped onto
stretchers
aboard the rotary craft and IVs were started to offset any dehydration
or shock
they were experiencing. Butch and Jake were again in their seats in the
front
of the aircraft and beginning the start-up. Jake read aloud the
pre-flight
checklist while Butch turned knobs, flipped switches and pushed buttons
‘by the
numbers.’ Halfway through the list the
rotors began to turn and the engines began their customary whine
winding up
their revolutions to the point where the ignition, firing up the
engines, could
be switched on.

Completing the list, Jake put the clipboard in its holder,
and switched on the radio, informing the Control Center of their
readiness to
take off. They were directed to fly to Vail where the small hospital
there
would attend to the wounded. Too, they were informed that a second
helicopter
would soon arrive at the crash site, and a FAA accident team was
leaving Denver
on a military chopper to investigate the crash.

As
the RET jet-powered craft began to lift off, another
voice was heard over the radio. It was the second helicopter co-pilot
who
informed Butch and Jake that their ascending machine was in sight. Jake
wished
them well in finding other survivors, then switched back to Air Traffic
Control
as the chopper climbed through the thin air into the night.

An hour and a
half later, Ron and Matt’s home.

“Turner
residence,” Parker announced into the no longer
ringing phone.

“Parker.
This is Butch in Vail, Colorado. Is Matt home?”

“Yes,
Mr. Butch. He just came in. Hold please.”

Parker quickly punched the buttons to transfer the call to
the phones in Ron and Matt’s bedroom suite.

“Yes
Parker?”

“It’s
Mr. Butch sir. He said he was calling from Vail
Colorado.”

“Thanks Parker, I’ll take the call.”

“Butch!”
Matt exclaimed, surprised at the early call.

“We
found two of the survivors and brought them to the
hospital in Vail,” he revealed. “It’s the two passengers: a Sergeant
Sunderson
and Tom Stanley.”

“How
are they?” Matt asked.

“Sunderson has both legs broken and one broken arm, plus
minor cuts and bruises. Tom Stanley
was
blinded in the crash.’

“Wow!
Any news from the doctors as to the probability of his
gaining back his eyesight?”

“Not
yet,” reported Butch. “Apparently neither man sustained
life threatening injuries. There is some other good news too. One of
the pilots
has survived. They were buried in snow that had entered the cabin. He’s
on his
way here now in a second helicopter. His condition is critical as he’s
suffering from severe hypothermia. This is a good hospital for that
condition
though. They have lots of experience with treatment of cold temperature
injuries. Unfortunately the other pilot didn’t make it. His body will
be taken
to Denver, once the other pilot is delivered here.”

“Good
work, Butch. I’ll let Ron know as soon as I talk to
him. When are you returning to Las Vegas?”

“We’re taking off shortly for Grand Junction. We’ll file our
reports there and refuel. There should be a couple of hours of daylight
left then,
so as of now we’re planning on coming back tonight.”

“If
you’re too tired, come back tomorrow,” advised Matt.
“And when you get back, take a couple of days off. I’ll let Jan know.”